Xanadu of the Mind
by lynxzpanther
Summary: Rescuing Cobb from Limbo was never going to be easy, but it's somehow become a lot harder than Arthur ever imagined...even though he's got help from a rather elusive forger. A/E, eventual M
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: Okay, it feels much less odd to say this after saying it twenty-five times, but I haven't said it in ages: I didn't actually write this chapter. =) This is a jointfic between me and anime-is-mi-life, so she wrote the first bit. Second chapter will be mine, from Eames POV. Warnings: slash, and eventual M rated content **is **likely, knowing the way my mind and hers work. You've already read the summary, so... here goes. ^.^ Enjoy the ride.**_

_**Disclaimer: I disclaim. ;P**_

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><p>Arthur's POV<p>

I lay back on the black leather couch, my eyes fluttering shut at the sedative from the PAVIS kicked in. Waves of mind numbing sensations coursed through me until all went black.

I awoke in a bar, holding a glass of brandy. Looking around, I saw the bar was classier than the average one; the walls were painted red on top, and black on bottom, a white crown molding separating the two. The upholstery was all black leather, the tables silver stained glass steel. The lighting was dimmed and the flooring was stained mahogany. The bar was the same wood, marble topped and a blonde haired, blue eyed waitress worked the back, wearing a short sleeved button up shirt with the first three buttons undone. Over her short black skirt, she wore a black apron where she kept a pad of paper for writing down orders. She had four inch heels that made her about 5'4".

"Anything else I can get for you, gentlemen?" the blonde asked, batting her ridiculously long fake eyelashes, her eyes trained solely on Eames, sitting to my left.

"No thanks," Eames replied smoothly, his eyes hot and steamy, unconsciously – or perhaps consciously, I thought murderously—giving her his smoldery look. I knew it wasn't Eames' fault, it was my projection of him anyways. It wasn't the projection's fault that I thought of Eames as a man-whore.

"Well, uh… in case you find yourself in need of any extra service," the waitress said seductively as she slid a piece of paper across the counter to Eames who put in his pocket for later. With that the waitress mouthed "call me," before she turned and went to help another customer.

"Looks like someone's going to get some tonight," Eames said with his mischievous smirk. Downing the rest of his drink, Eames got up, saying, "I think I'm going to stop by the loo. Don't wait up, darling." My eyes followed after him, absolutely seething with anger and envy, as Eames started after the waitress. Eames sauntered off, non decrepitly pulling the waitress aside and whispering in her ear before heading off to the loo. A few minutes later, the waitress slipped into the loo, practically squealing with joy.

I stared after them long after they had gone in. It always happened this way; my dream never changed. Eames was always here; I basked in his company, until he was stolen by some ditzy woman. It was sad really, I had originally retreated to the sanctity of dreams to escape this exact scenario. Though I loathed admitting it even to myself, I had an attraction towards the other man. I had retreated to my dream to sort out exactly how I felt about Eames. Only to have the man flirt with women both here and in reality. And of course I kept coming back to my self-induced dreaming with the slight hope that Eames – or my projection of Eames—would show even the slightest sign of returning the feelings I had for him. This, of course, didn't happen, only enforcing the fact that that meant I knew somewhere subconsciously that Eames wasn't interested. No matter how much he fake flirted. Nor how he made my heart flutter. Or how my mind hazed over with lust.

"Well this is amusing," Eames—real Eames—said, snapping me out of my self-pity. My head whipped around to see Eames sitting on the barstool to my right, watching me. He was wearing a well tailored red dress shirt with the first two buttons undone, a form-fitting leather jacket, and a pair of black dress pants. His brown eyes shone with amusement as he stared at me, his lips turned just lightly upwards into a lopsided grin.

"What are you doing here, Eames?"

"I dropped in to see just what type of naughty dreams you were having about me in here and I found out you're sitting here watching me have at it with another. I'm rather disappointed Arthur. Your imagination is lacking. We must work on that, darling," he said, his hand going to rest upon my cheek. Where he touched tingled just the slightest bit as heat flooded into my cheeks. I longed to lean into the touch, but I knew that if I did that it would only spell trouble.

"For your information, Eames," I said, pulling away, "I was getting ready for a job." Getting up, I turned and walked away, trying to ignore when Eames got up and started following me. Stepping out of the bar, I turned left and started walking down the busy street.

"And what would this have to do with a job? Why haven't you told me about it?" he asked, grabbing my arm and turning me around to face him. He stared into my eyes, his searching mine for some semblance of what I'm thinking. I saw the realization sweep through him and I turned away, trying uselessly to keep him from seeing anymore. "You're going after Cobb, aren't you?" he asked me, his fear and anger evident in his voice. "Aren't you!" he demanded. The slight downcast of my eyes and the silence that resulted answered his question and he released me, pulling away and pacing, a hand running through his hair. "Arthur," he sighed finally.

"Don't Eames," I warned, backing away from him, pressing myself against the wall.

"Arthur," he said, turning back to me and closing the gap between us, putting his hands on either side of my face. Blocking my escape. "You need to let it go. He's gone. It's been six months," he said, staring me straight in the eye, holding my gaze. "Even if he did escape Mal, you can't possibly think he's still alive. Think how long he'd be trapped down there. He would have died of old age by now. And if you die in limbo, there's nothing left. You're brain dead," he said, his voice soothing. But his words snapped me out of the trance his eyes had put me in.

"You can't know that!" I exclaimed, my mind amiss with denial and anger. Cobb couldn't be dead. Eames was lying. "No one's tried it before. Perhaps when you die in limbo, you simply rewash on the sea of your subconscious. Maybe you're thrown straight back into limbo, sent to start anew. He could be living life again and again, waiting for someone to save him!"

"Or he could be insane! Living life after life, stuck there with only projections! Perhaps he went mad and even if you bring him back he'll be lost to the world," Eames exclaimed, his anger washing over me, putting out the fire of mine.

I felt numb and could only mutter, "He's my best friend. I have to at least try, Eames." I looked at him, close to tears and met his eyes staring down at me. He searched mine, trying to find a way to talk me out of it and found none.

Sighing he pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. "Then we do this together. You're going to need all the help you can get." I felt myself let out a sob and he held me tighter, rubbing soothing circles on my back. "We'll find a way, love." And for that moment, I left myself be held in his arms and believe we would actually pull this off.

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><p><em><strong>Reviews are love! <strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

**_AN: Chapter two! Mine. ^.^ Still a bit short, but hopefully they'll get longer as I get into it._**

**_Warnings: Bit of swearing. Hope you don't mind. _**

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><p>Eames POV<p>

I wasn't sure why he let me hold him, but I was glad that he did. He was upset, clearly, and I didn't know how else to comfort him. My point man was supposed to be able to handle anything stoically; it was one of the laws of my universe. To watch him breaking now set my world spinning in a jumbled up haze, unsure of its purpose. Cobb had thrown us headfirst into a bloody confusing mess, and I wanted nothing more than to fix it and make everything okay again—whatever that meant. "Then we do this together," I informed him, not letting my reluctance show in my words. I wasn't letting him face Limbo alone, no matter how fucking terrified I was at the idea of going there myself. "You're going to need all the help you can get." He sobbed a little—not much, but anything from Arthur was an extreme reaction—and clung on, not just allowing me to hold him now, but holding me back. Some feeling—I didn't know what it was and didn't care to—welled up inside me and I found myself promising, "We'll find a way, love." Such an optimistic promise considering my fatalistic viewpoint, but now I was determined to succeed. I was afraid Arthur would break if we didn't.

Being Arthur, he soon pushed away from me, faking composure once more. "Time to wake up?" A gun appeared in his hand and he tilted his head to the side endearingly.

I nodded and looked away as he shot himself in the head—a sight I'd never gotten used to. I picked up the gun from the ground and shot myself quickly, waking back up in my own body. As always it took a second to reorient myself; I was in a chair next to the bed Arthur was now sitting on, the PASIV hooked up between us. The whirring died down as the machine turned off and we were left in silence.

"So… plans?" I asked. He blinked and nodded, pulling a briefcase out from under the bed and passing me the files stored inside. I read through them slowly and grinned. "I think… I think I can make this work." His smile was hopeful, but afraid to hope, tiny and incredibly beautiful. I'd _make _my plan work.

The hospital Cobb was in was _posh. _I hadn't ever seen one like this; it looked like a Four Seasons resort! The thing had to be costing Arthur a lot of money. Our jobs kept us loaded, but this place had to be taking its toll on his wallet.

Arthur, however, looked completely at ease strolling into the bloody magnificent building. He must have visited often, because everyone inside nodded to him or smiled at him or stopped to say hello. Arthur smiled and charmed his way through them; and people thought _I _was the charming one? He was bloody brilliant with these people, but then, he'd have to be to keep Cobb on life support for six months after they'd declared him dead.

I shuddered, remembering that day. He'd gone bloody insane when he'd been told that Cobb was lost; no one did denial quite like Arthur did, and for a moment we'd all glimpsed the killer hidden deep inside Arthur. It wasn't a side anyone liked to see. So they'd given in, given Arthur control over Cobb's future, and six months later nothing was different. Arthur's money was being slowly drained and Cobb kept breathing right on with those machines, his life and sanity siphoning away with Arthur's funds. Letting him die would really be the kindest thing—he'd be released from Limbo then, at least (or so they thought)—but absolutely no one did denial like Arthur.

He was the most frustrating man in existence.

We finally crossed the long, opulent lobby full of lush plants (who puts _plants _all over a hospital lobby?) and made it to the elevator. I leaned against the wall inside, feeling a bit drained. Normally jobs had me excited, got me thinking eccentric, but this one wasn't so fun. I was already weary of just the idea of it; how would I ever get into it enough to complete it?

Why was I even doing it? It wasn't a real job; there was no payoff—unless I counted Arthur's sanity as a reward. I was a bit unnerved to find that I _did. _

"You okay?" I glanced over to see Arthur watching me a bit uncertainly, not that his expression showed much. I'd just gotten good at reading him over the years. I was always one for puzzles, after all.

"Fine," I promised, flashing him a wide grin. He bought it, albeit a bit reluctantly, and smiled back. He seemed to be feeling better already, just being here. He must _really_care about his best friend.

Why did that make me jealous?

I was relieved now to be out of the tight confines of the elevator. I noticed little about the hospital, because I was now focused on getting to Cobb, getting the job done, and getting the hell away from Arthur as fast as I could for a few weeks or so. Clearly, he messed with my thought process, and I valued the ability to think.

Seeing Cobb, though, I had to freeze a little. I mean, I'd seen him ages ago, right after the Inception job. But it had all been so unreal then: he'd looked like he might just be asleep, waiting for the sedatives to wear off. He didn't look like that now. He was paler than normal, skinnier than he should be, his face drawn. Cobb's most notable trait was his vibrant personality. He constantly sparked with life; he was like one of those sparklers yanks light off on their Independence Day. His spark was gone now—lost or dead—and suddenly I could see why Arthur wanted him back. I'd never really _liked _Cobb, personally, but a world without his spark was a much darker place. Maybe, just maybe, Cobb was worth rescuing.

The next thing I noticed was the pictures on the window sill, facing Cobb and the visitor's chair. Two beautiful young children, kids I'd caught brief glimpses of during past jobs with Cobb. I could still faintly recall the echoes of laughter hanging in my ears, the trademark that Cobb's issues were once again screwing up a job. But now these children weren't a problem, just innocent and adorable little kiddos, flames in their own right. They'd lost both of their parents now, and even if I wasn't doing this for Arthur, or Cobb's spark, I'd be doing it for them. They deserved their father back, especially after all he'd lost for them.

A soft click brought me back to present and I saw that Arthur had settled the PASIV case on a table next to the bed. He dragged both chairs over until they were next to it and closed the door, locking it easily and barring it with a third chair. "Been busy, love?"

He shrugged. "I just got what we needed. The nurse won't check on us for a few hours, anyway."

"Hopefully it doesn't take longer," I murmured, staring at the device with trepidation I hadn't felt since my first few jobs. "Ready to dance, darling?" I asked, light teasing in my voice. He rolled his eyes and turned the machine on, a soft whir—nearly inaudible, really, except to those that knew to listen for it—started up, filling our silence with someone we both understood.

We hooked Cobb up and then ourselves, slipping into the darkness of the dream.

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><p><strong><em>Reviews are love! <em>**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here's the next bit! It's a longer one this time; I'll try to make mine match up in length.^.^ Reviews remind my brilliant co-author that she didn't spend days writing for nothing (well, besides fun XP). **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. I only co-own this story and its plot line and perhaps if we decide to add a new character not from the original movie.**

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><p>Walking into the hospital was horrid. Eames couldn't stop staring around like it was unimaginable that a hospital would be this nice. It had to be; I wouldn't accept anything less when it came to my friends. Even though the bills were starting to wear my wallet too thin for my comfort.<p>

I remained stoic, strolling down the hall with a forced calm even though my mind was warring between running to Cobb's room as fast as possible, or grabbing Eames and high-tailing it out of the dreadful hospital. I smiled and greeted Janice, the receptionist, who let us through without another word, simply waving hello. I had become such a frequent visitor here she had come to know me and didn't stop me and have me sign in like all the others. Walking down the hall I spotted Carol, Cobb's nurse practitioner, and I expected her to fall in step with me. Every time I visited, she would somehow run into me and we would have a pleasant conversation then discuss Cobb's condition like we always did. But instead she looked down at the ground and hurried past us, not bothering to say hello or even acknowledge our presence there. A chill ran up my spine. Carol had never been so cold. Suddenly all sorts of horrific images popped into my mind, most of them where Cobb was dead. Cobb bleeding out to death. Cobb going into some sort of organ failure. A nurse tripping and unplugging the defibrillator that kept Cobb alive.

I felt an overwhelming urge to run all the way to Cobb's room, but I forced myself to calm down and rationalize. Perhaps it was because Eames was here that she hadn't stopped. She didn't know him and he wasn't always the most associable person. I knew it wasn't true, but I forced myself to accept it so that I didn't run out of there like the hounds of hell were on my trail.

The elevator ride up was torture. Eames kept sending off waves of different emotions like fireworks: anger, awe, uncertainty, jealousy, shock, confusion, and then anger again.

"You okay?" I asked, trying to see through his eyes and find what was upsetting him. I tried to keep my stoic mask on, make it seem like I didn't really care, but I knew Eames could see my uncertainty. He was good at reading people; hell, it was his job!

"Fine," he said, flashing me a grin, trying (rather unsuccessfully) to reassure me. I knew it wasn't a real smile. His real smiles weren't so tight lipped and his eyes now didn't shine with their usual merriment that came with his natural smiles. I felt a stab of guilt. He shouldn't have to be here, doing this. It wasn't fair to him. I didn't want him to suffer for me. But I knew I would never have the courage to say that to him; I was just as scared as he was and –though I knew it was selfish—I wanted him here. He was unconsciously giving me strength just by being present. With him here, I felt we would be able to pull this off, even though the entire situation seemed hopeless.

I felt another wave of jealousy from Eames and was about to investigate, but the doors opened and we walked to Cobb's room. Seeing Cobb, I had to suppress a gasp. He looked… sick! His skin looked like someone had stolen all the life from him, leaving an empty shell of the man he had once been. His cheeks had sunk in, his cheekbones were more pronounced and his ribs protruded from under his gown. His arms and legs were skinnier, the muscles growing weaker from lack of use. In all the time he had spent here, he had never looked this bad. He had simply looked asleep. Now he looked like he was withering away. It broke my heart to see him like this. Cobb was always the perfect example of the spark of life, the eternal child. Sure he was mature, had children, and had loads of issues, but he had always had that sort of youthful joy to him. But it was all gone now.

I looked to Eames and saw him staring at the picture of Cobb's kids I had put on the window sill. He had a troubled look on his face and I knew what he was feeling. The poor little ones had lost their mother and –if we didn't hurry—their father too. I saw Eames' back straighten and his jaw tightened as his determination grew. The feelings flooded into me and I walked to the bedside table, opening my briefcase and setting down the PASIV. Moving both chairs to sit beside the table, I then strode to the door and locked it, barricading it with a chair for extra measure. Though I knew it was simply to appease my excessive need to plan for the worst; no nurse ever entered when I came to visit until visiting hours ended.

"Been busy, love?" Eames asked. I realized he had been watching me and I looked away, pretending to be busy, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Shrugging, I said, "I just got what we needed. The nurse won't check on us for a few hours, anyway."

"Hopefully it doesn't take longer," he muttered, more to himself than to me. I saw him shoot a look at the PASIV like it was the scariest thing in the world come to destroy him. I felt the same stab of guilt with a small twinge of fear. "Ready to dance, darling?" he asked, his voice turned light and teasing. I knew he was trying (in his own way) to reassure me. Rolling my eyes, I turned the machine on and the subtle hum filled the room, filling me with the odd sense of detachment my mind associated with that noise. The world around me no longer seemed to matter, all the worries that had filled me seemed to lift, still there, but not affecting me. I felt myself walked over to Cobb and plugged him in, watching with a feeling of peace as the needle slid under his ghostly skin. I turned and sat down, watching Eames plug himself in before shooting me a reassuring grin. His grin remained till at last the sedative took him and his head drooped down, asleep. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Please be safe." Then I took my needle and inserted it into my arm feeling the familiar sense of floating as wave after wave of numbing sedative coursed through me before all went black.

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><p>My lungs burned with a need for air as sand scraped the left side of my body. I quickly tried to take a breath and got half a mouthful of water down my lungs. Forcing myself to sit up, I started coughing. When finally all the water was expelled from my lungs, I began calling Eames' name hoarsely, my throat raw from the sandy water I had coughed up. I forced myself to my feet and looked every which way, searching desperately for Eames. Finally I saw him lying on the shore, his hands over his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths. I walked over, stopping to stand over him, watching as he moved his hand to shield the sun from his eyes as he looked at me.<p>

"What took you so long, darling?" he asked, smiling up at me. I stared at him in confusion. I had only been a few seconds behind him.

"How long have you been here?" I asked, wanting to compare the calculations with the actuality.

"Twenty minutes," Eames informed me. I sat there, dumbfounded as my mind processed what he said. I could have sworn I hadn't been more than five seconds behind him. Then the math hit me. Five seconds in the real life was twenty minutes here. "Please do enlighten me, love. Math had never been my strong suit," he said, staring up at me in confusion.

"I miscalculated. I assumed that limbo followed the same principles as all layers of a dream… but I didn't take into account… the quadrupling quality of Yusuf's sedative," I breathed out, feeling angry at myself and my incompetence. "Fuck!" I shouted, pulling at my hair. "How could I have overlooked something as obvious as the sedative? How could I have been so stupid! How could I have overlooked such a vital variable as the sedative? Damn it all!" I exploded, my anger pouring out of me. Why was I always messing up?

Eames put a hand on my shoulder, halting me from my pacing. "How long did you set the time for?" he asked, his voice calming, putting out the fire in me. I had to stay calm. I was the point man. I had to take everything the world threw at me and be able to take it in stride and rationalize it.

"Five minutes," I said, my mind racing as I did the math. "Each second is four minutes. A minute is four hours, therefore we're here for twenty hours."

Eames stood there, thinking. "Well, I guess it's good you wanted to do this scouting trip before the actual job. I would hate to think about how much time we would have been here had we done the whole hour on the first go," he said, trying to reassure me. Still seeing my self-loathing, Eames sobered. "Arthur. It's not your fault. I'm just glad that you were smart enough to have us take a scouting trip. You even told me that the reason we were going to was so that you could find out how close your estimation of time was. See? You're not stupid, Arthur." His eyes stared into mine, willing me to believe his words. I saw the situation through his eyes and my anger dimmed. He was right. He was absolutely, positively right. He almost always was, though I loathed to admit it. I nodded my head to let him know I understood, not trusting myself to speak.

Then it hit me like a load of bricks. My eyes widened and my breath caught in my throat. I felt Eames' hand squeeze my shoulder.

"What is it, love?"

"My god," was all I managed. My throat was dry and no matter how much I swallowed, I couldn't seem to quench it. I looked to Eames, taking in his worried expression. "Cobb. He's been here for… God."

Eames looked at me, his face pale. "How long?" Closing my eyes, I rechecked my math over and over again, trying to find a mistake when I knew there was none. I did so for several minutes before Eames couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Arthur. How long has Cobb been stuck here?" he asked, his voice firm and demanding an answer.

I opened my eyes and stared into his. "More than one hundred nineteen years."

Eames seemed to be unable to form words. He looked at the ground as though it would hold the answers to the world. He opened his mouth several times, trying to say something, but nothing would come out. Finally my composure took hold and I managed to spit out, "Fuck."

That seemed to snap Eames out of it and he smiled at me, trying to ease the tension. "Gladly."

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><p>"So what's the plan, darling?" Eames asked, from the brown cotton couch he was perched on. His arms behind his head, his legs up on the oak and glass table top, he was the picture of ease. He didn't look like he was stuck in limbo for nineteen more hours and had to talk a man who had lived there for over a century, thinking that it was reality, into leaving.<p>

"Well," I said, "I'm thinking we have to get him his totem back."

"Wait, what makes you think he doesn't have his totem?" Eames asked, taking his feet from the table and putting his hands at his side.

"Come on, do you really think that Cobb, _Cobb,_ would lose himself unless he left his totem behind?" I asked, looking at Eames. He cast his eyes down, thinking, and I continued. "I know, it might not work, but we have to help him find himself again. Now, let's talk strategies." I started pacing across the living room that I had conjured.

"What about the projections? This world was created by Cobb, therefore his projections know the layout better than us," Eames said. "We could easily wander into a trap and have no out."

"Haven't you noticed there aren't any projections here? I think in limbo you can control which projections you bring in with you. Either that or they're all in some giant community, plotting our demise," I said, meaning it as a joke, but the fact that it could be true scared me.

Eames seemed to think about this for awhile. "So Cobb will have brought in his kids, Mal, and possibly his parents."

I stopped pacing, thinking, then started again, saying, "No. From what Ariadne told us about her time in limbo, Cobb had given up Mal. Therefore she won't be a problem. And hopefully the children won't be too much trouble. So long as you can keep them off while we convince Cobb they aren't real. Same with the parents."

"And how exactly do you expect to get Cobb to believe us?" Eames asked, staring at me. "I don't suppose you think he's going to see us and get up and leave all this behind? This is his life, has been for the past 119 years. You're going to need some good solid proof. I don't want us going in there until we have _some_ chance."

I was amazed at how much Eames was analyzing this. Generally he was always saying how planning was irrelevant; once in the dream space all that mattered was your ability to think on your feet. "I've already got that covered," I said, pulling a manila envelope from the inner pocket of my suit. "Actually, that's what I was doing for those three months I left England," I admitted. Eames stared at me before grabbing the envelope. He had kept asking me ever since I came back where I had gone and until now I had seen no point in telling him. Now I saw no point in not. I watched as he went through all the papers, reading each one until he finally got to the last couple. The ones I knew he would stop at, because I myself had stopped at them. He set the rest aside as he read and reread the two piece of paper, the only ones in the stack not computer generated. As he took in each word and crayon-scribbled drawing, a look of deep sadness crossed his face and he looked years older. Finally, he set the papers down and looked me straight in the eyes.

"We need to get him home," he said, his voice demanding, his whole being radiating determination. I looked at him then with new eyes. He wasn't just the joker I took him for who seemed to take everything in life like a great big party full of laughs and smiles. He simply coped with it by doing all that. Like I did by working. I looked at him and saw just how alike we were.

I caught myself, forcing those thoughts out of my mind. We were doing a job; I couldn't be focusing on my emotions. I had to keep my mind on how we were going to pull this off. Too much was at stake for me to treat it nonchalantly. "I know," I said, "and this is how we're going to do it."

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><p>I couldn't help but marvel at Eames. The man had been at it for 3 ½ hours, contributing several pieces to the plan that fixed many of the key problems. It was amazing how strategic he could be with the proper motivation. I watched coolly as the man looked over the plan one last time. Not that it would do anything; we had looked over it over 100 times and fixed all we could. But there was still many ways we could fail. There was a better chance of failing than succeeding.<p>

Twenty-one percent. Only twenty-one percent chance of success. Not very good odds. Even Eames looked a bit fitful about the idea. But they had to at least try.

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><p>"Eames," I said, pointing to the house before us, remembering the battered shutters as part of Ariadne's description of how to get to Cobb's house. "This is the house Mal grew up in. Now, we're supposed to keep going down this street. There! That building."<p>

Eames nodded to me and continued walking down the street. At the door, he held it open for me and we walked in. I motioned to the elevator and he got in, me scanning the lobby for anyone. Just as he pressed the button for the floor, I turned around, intending to get in and a pair of hands clasped over my mouth. A second person slammed the doors to the elevator shut and held them as Eames flung himself at the bars, trying to pry the man's hands off. But it was useless, the man had somehow managed to wrap a chain around the bars and was now closing the lock. Eames was stuck in the elevator, watching me as he thrashed around, screaming my name. I wanted to struggle, but the person holding me was too strong and my arms were crushed between my body and his. Freaking out, I tried to bite down, but he had shoved a cloth to my nose and mouth. I took a breath. Chloroform. I tried to not breath but it was too late. The last thing I saw before I passed out was Eames trying to pry the doors to the elevator open.

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><p><strong>Reviews are love!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**_AN: Long chapter again, enjoy!_**

**_Warming: Lots of cussing. Sorry. _**

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><p>Eames POV<p>

With our plan set, we walked deeper into Cobb's alternate reality. It was honestly pretty creepy: all sorts of mismatched buildings scattered randomly, waterside here, desert there; nothing made sense. Rather like Cobb's mind, then. But _still, _it was just off.

Arthur strolled along with purpose, though; Ariadne had described this place to him. Hell, maybe she'd even showed him in a dream level. Arthur had become pretty obsessed with Cobb's limbo when the idiot first got himself lost.

The walk was long, but all of the buildings were huge, so it distorted the proportions and made the walk seem longer than it actually was, making it feel short… and all of it thoroughly messed with my mind. Cobb's head was one big mind-fuck, I decided, and I did not like it _at all. _

Even if it was rather beautiful, in a creepy sort of way.

"Eames," Arthur said after a while, calling my attention back to him. I looked over to see him pointing at the creepiest house of all—the little battered one that looked like Cobb had imagined it right out of a horror movie. Arthur had promised that every location and person here was significant in some way, but looking at that place, I wasn't as sure. "This is the house Mal grew up in." And suddenly I understood why intuitive, lovely Mal had gone crazy the way she had. Quietly, viciously crazy. That house would have influenced my crazy side a little negatively as well if I'd had to live there for eighteen years. "Now, we're supposed to keep going down this street," Arthur said, peering around inquisitively. "There! That building." He pointed once more at a different building, this one larger; it would look in place in a city setting somewhere. It wasn't one of the creeper buildings, and that was all that mattered to me.

We reached the shiny building and stepped inside. It was open and spacious, sunny and full of windows, and I kind of liked it. Arthur motioned toward an elevator and I crossed over to it, climbing inside and hitting the floor button as we planned. Arthur was just finishing his scan of the building and about to step inside with me. He moved, and suddenly I saw the two figures that had stealthily hid from my view behind him and his view by keeping in his blind spot. Before I could think, they leapt forward and then everything went up in crazy motion. The doors were slammed shut and locked closed. I felt a bit insane as I leapt at them and tried to shake them apart, the fucking cold metal hurting my fingers, sharp edges drawing a bit of blood from shallow cuts, but it was no use. Then I saw who had Arthur, froze, and then leapt into motion once more with twice as much passion, because this was _fucked up _and I was _not _letting it happen. I started screaming his name, trying to get free, trying to save him, trying to make anything happen to stop… _this. _

Arthur couldn't see who held him or who was now smirking at me through the bars I was locked behind. Arthur was being dragged back by Cobb's projection of Arthur himself. A cloth was pressed over his mouth and he quickly passed out. The projection-me tossed me one last careless smirk before turning to help projection-Arthur drag my Arthur away. I fell back from the bars and leaned against the opposite wall. "Fuck!" I screamed. "Fuck you, Dominic Cobb!"

He'd mind-fucked us, again.

I stood there, watching them disappear from the building and down the road we had just came from. When they finally were out of my sight, I frowned at the chain and lock holding the doors together. Sighing, I slowly manipulated the chain to feed through the bars—the sizing was a pretty tight fit, so it took _forever—_and eventually managed to get the lock in, on my side. I pulled a trusty paperclip from my pocket and picked the lock in a few moments, freeing myself. I pushed gratefully out of the elevator, my right sleeve catching on the metal and ripping a bit, and then I was out and _running. _

I slowed down once more when I got out into the street, though, because I didn't know this place. Arthur knew it, and Ari, but that wasn't helpful just now. All of these places were significant to Cobb, every horrifying one, but I didn't know Cobb very well. We'd been in the same regiment in the army, undergone PASIV training together when it was first released, and we trusted each other. Our minds were used to each other, and we knew not to steal each other's secrets. But there had always been something _off _about him, his insanity, and while I was fine with letting him save my life and even with saving his—hell, there'd been a time when any of us army boys would have taken a bullet for each other, no questions asked—I'd never really been _friends _with him. I didn't know him brilliantly well. I knew Arthur much better, as I'd always liked him better and made an effort to remember the things he said even back in the army. I wasn't a crazy-people person overall, not like Arthur. He seemed to be a magnet for them; they loved him and he knew all about them and didn't run away. He was good for them. I wasn't.

And yet, I needed to get into Cobb's head—figuratively, as I was already _literally _there—and sort out this bloody mess. I just had to trust that Arthur would be in a place I recognized, something from our shared time with Cobb, otherwise… well, I didn't want to think about that. Arthur and I weren't insane, but we were screwed up people. My best guess was that our projections were trying to keep Cobb here—of course, that was generally their m.o. Cobb's fake Arthur probably wanted to keep him happy, as a loyal best friend, and the fake me probably just wanted to keep Arthur happy. Cobb had always been perceptive, after all. We were probably very near perfect.

Which scared me. With Cobb's penchant for details, _I'd _be nearly perfect, and Cobb had seen me at my worst. The things I'd done in my past… some of them still gave me nightmares, and if they were being used somewhere here to hurt Arthur now, I would never forgive myself.

And as dark as _my_ dark side was, Arthur's was just as bad, if not even worse. If _he _was set on torturing himself… well, we were still stuck here for another eighteen-ish hours, and he could be so permanently scarred that point that he'd _break. _I couldn't lose him, not now, not here, and not to Dominic Cobb's screwy subconscious.

I remembered what I'd read in the files, though, little as it had been. I'd seen the children's pictures, presents for the father they hadn't seen in three years, and it broke my heart. I also had skimmed Ariadne's tale of her time in Cobb's Limbo.

It was unlikely that I'd find Arthur on my own.

So I turned around and headed right back in those doors to the building I would now forever hate. I hesitated but stepped back onto the elevator. I punched in the number for the floor…and I waited.

I reached the floor, the lift slowly rattling to a halt. I stepped out into a house and turned back to see that the lift was almost unnoticeable where it was hidden—Cobb had made it easy to ignore the proof, then. It was fascinating that he'd built multiple worlds into floors of a building, all within a larger world… it was endless, a concept of eternity that I couldn't quite wrap my head around, and _I _had mastered the most difficult skill in the dream world: forging. Cobb would probably have made one hell of a forger if he'd been inclined, I realized. Even better than I was, and I was the best. That wasn't an entirely happy thought.

I wandered through the house and found him in the backyard. He was lounging against a tree, the projections of his children playing in the yard. They were adorable, their shrieks of laughter sweet and carefree in a way only children could manage. Cobb looked normal age, but that told me little—he could have been like this for centuries and forgotten. A mind as complex as his probably had numerous barriers to protect itself. It wanted to keep him here, safe and sheltered and cut off from the world.

I needed to get him out, because the real versions of those kids needed him. Arthur needed him—and Arthur still needed me, I remembered with a jolt, and felt instantly guilty for having lost myself in the moment. "Cobb!" I called out.

His head snapped up, his eyes locking on me. "Eames?"

I strolled over and dropped down onto the ground beside him. The kids came running over, screaming my name and jumping on me with hugs before racing off again. They were adorable, those two, they really were. "Hey."

Cobb tilted his head, staring at me. After a moment he shook his head. "Hey. What's up?"

I could tell that he was watching me oddly, and I didn't like it. "Something wrong?"

"No, just… a feeling." He grinned after a moment. "So, to what do I owe your company?"

"Just curious about something, really," I said, deciding to pretend to be his projection for now. It was all simpler that way. It was like inception, this idea: I didn't want to tell Cobb that Cobb was in Limbo, but rather wanted Cobb to figure it out for himself. The man was a genius, after all, and he'd probably only believe the idea that this all wasn't real if he decided it for himself. Of course, he'd chosen to forget in the first place, so long ago that he probably wouldn't even remember now. That was problematic. "I haven't seen you spin your totem recently," I commented, giving off a small shrug when Cobb's gaze sharpened. "You lose it or something?"

Cobb frowned. "I don't… I…." I waited patiently. "I don't know where it is."

"You shouldn't lose something like that, Cobb," I chastised, but I tossed in a carefree grin. I wasn't feeling particularly lighthearted at the moment, but projection me would be, and I wasn't a master forger for nothing. If I couldn't forge a persona of myself, well, then I didn't deserve the title after all. "I'll watch the kids; you should look for it."

Slowly, very slowly, he nodded. "You're right." He stood up and brushed off his jeans; it looked like the kids had been scattering grass all over him before.

It was a long time before Cobb returned. Hours—it was starting to get dark. I was growing more and more worried about Arthur as time passed; he'd been with the projections for too long, and there were so many ways they could have tortured him in that time. I was beginning to vividly imagine all of them, and I had to force myself to focus on the even breathing of the children that had snuggled on my lap and fallen asleep as they got worn out by their games. Cobb finally reappeared in the doorway as night fell, looking a bit haunted around the edges. "Eames?"

I nodded. "Did you see it?"

He frowned and looked at the children. "They're not…?"

I carefully disentangled myself from them. "No, they aren't. I'm sorry, Cobb. We need to get you home, to your real kids… but I need your help first."

He looked a bit dazed—that really shouldn't have made me happy, but I liked watching him struggle to comprehend a situation for once—and slowly frowned. "What with?"

"Arthur," I told him. "I lost him. He's here, but the projections of us, they took him. You _know _what they'll do to him, Cobb, if they think he's a threat. Which they do. They wanted to stop us from getting to you and we _have _to find him, Cobb."

Cobb looked horrified. "Arthur's _here?" _

I pulled a mock hurt face. "And you don't care that I'm in danger? Thanks, Cobb, I feel the love."

"I know where he is." Cobb turned and ran, finding the elevator on the first try.

"You remember?" I asked, following him inside. "Everything?" I only got a short nod for my troubles. "How long?"

"Longer than I want to remember." His eyes were so old. They looked so out of place on his young, youthful face.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "It was just too risky to get you, but Arthur…. He just wouldn't let go."

Cobb smiled fondly, shaking his head. "He never did learn how to let go," he agreed, smiling at me. "You followed him here?"

I had to grin back, despite the fact that Cobb's mind was a fucking asylum nightmare gone wrong and had gotten us into this mess in the first place. "Couldn't let him go running off and getting himself stuck here, could I?"

"No, I suppose you couldn't." The way Cobb said it made something inside me freeze in trepedition, but I didn't understand why. The words were odd, and I made a face, making him laugh. The lift rattled to a halt and we stepped out, back into the larger base world of Limbo once more. Cobb prowled through the building, finding desks in large conference rooms and rifling through them. He dug something out and tossed it to me: a gun. He pocketed one of his own and took off running. "Come on!" he called over his shoulder. I followed, eager to rescue Arthur and get the hell out of this place.

I didn't pay much attention to the surroundings; they generally just freaked me out and I didn't want to deal with them right now. Besides, I didn't plan on needing a mental map of the layout. I just concentrated on following Cobb. This was his place, so I hoped he knew where he was going.

He must have, because twenty minutes of hard running later my lungs were burning and he stopped abruptly. I took a moment to catch my breath before looking around, and my breath caught in horror. My mind went numb, my body started shaking, and every cell in me was screaming for me to run the fuck away. This was the place out of my worst nightmares, disturbingly real. It was where I'd met both Cobb and Arthur, but I'd trade away those friends and my job in the dream world to have never seen that hell-hole. It was the place they'd taught us how to withstand torture. Our government was a fucked-up system, after all, and they pulled out _all _the stops to teach us. Days and days of it, the worst possible things they could imagine, methods compiled from years and years of practice on criminals and prisoners of war and people that they needed to squeal. I'd endured so much in that place, as had Arthur and Cobb, and we'd all escaped alive somehow. I never, never wanted to go back in… but I had to.

I round on Cobb, furious. "Seriously? What the fuck?"

He shrugged, a bit more pale than he'd been before but still composed. Of course the crazy man would be composed when I was slowly losing my sanity. Fan-bloody-tastic. "It was important," he pointed out. "It shaped who I became."

I shook my head. "Me, mate, I suppressed those times so that my mind barely remembered that they existed. I pushed them so far back and put up so many walls that my _nightmares _couldn't find them." And all those walls were now crashing down. It was horrible, my mind filling with screams and blood and pain as my memories pushed to the forefront on my awareness before they began to search for their rightful shelf once more. And of course my mind suddenly added Arthur to all those images. Arthur's blood, Arthur's screams, Arthur's pain. I shuddered at the unwelcomed thoughts.

He just shrugged again. "You can go back."

I sighed. "No, I can't. We have to get Arthur." I fixed my sights on the building that was my nightmares in solid form and sighed. "Ready?"

Cobb grinned. "Definitely."

I shook my head. We slowly began to creep toward the building, keeping an eye out for any projections. I pulled my gun out of my pocket and found myself wishing that Arthur had been able to let Cobb die. If I'd seen this coming, I would never have let us come here. As always, hindsight was a bitch.

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><p><em><strong>Reviews are love!<strong>_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Yay! She wrote this quickly, though she had been technically writing it while I was writing the previous one. ^.^ She still wrote it quickly considering how long it is. Reviews make us feel loved! **

**Warning: This one is... dark. Just, super super dark. So... don't say I didn't warn you. **

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><p>I awoke in absolute hell. My eyes fluttered open, my mind groggy from the after-effects of the chloroform. My head throbbed, probably from the not so pleasant treatment of my body from my kidnappers. But that wasn't what caused me to freeze in terror. No, it was where I was.<p>

I hung from the ceiling, a pair of steel manacles digging into the flesh of my wrists, causing little droplets of blood to escape and spread down my arms. My feet hung over the floor just barely, held by another pair of chains. I had been stripped bare of all but a pair of boxers. Looking around the walls, I recognized where I was. I recognized every scratch, dent, and stain on each and every single wall. I could name which ones I had made, which stains on the wall were my blood. It would have been simple to construct this place and I had honestly thought about it during the Fisher case, but that just seemed too cruel. The man had done nothing wrong. He didn't deserve something as horrid as this place. No one deserved to be subjected to this room. This room was the training room the army used to train their extractors how to resist torture.

I wanted to weep. I had never wanted to come back to this place for the rest of my life. There was nothing here but memories that I wanted to forget. Memories burned into my mind so deep that I never could. Memories that consisted of screams, deathly pain, and plenty of begging.

"I see you still remember this place," a voice said. From behind, I felt something press against my back and I grit my teeth as pain welled up in me, welts forming on the skin of my back from where the man ran the Azriel across my back. The Azriel was an invention of the government made specifically to torture people. It at first glance looked like a simple stick, but when in contact with flesh it was the most deadly torture device invented. It could bruise and sting like a paddle; it could cut and slice through muscles, tendons and ligaments like a knife; it could break skin like a whip; it could shock like a tazor; it could break bones and it could kill a person with just the right touch. It was a thing of nightmares and it was always the subject of my worst.

"Who are you?" I managed to spit out. The pain was horrid, but I had had worse. I was trained to take worse. And it was definitely not a lesson the body forgot easily. I heard a chuckle from behind me as my captor pulled my head back, forcing me to stare up at the ceiling and my hands as he jabbed the Azriel into my back. I held back a scream as he drove the Azriel into my back, breaking through the skin and muscle and causing blood to spill out. I almost wished I would bleed out to death, but I knew that it wouldn't happen. If these people were anything like the generals who had conducted the lessons—which knowing Cobb, they would be—they wouldn't let him. They had invented some sort of substance that increased the blood production so much that as soon as you lost it, you had gained it back.

"You really haven't figured it out?" he asked, releasing my hair, letting it fall down. My hair, wet with my sweat, clung to my forehead as I breathed heavily. The man ran the Azriel across my back, under my arm, across my chest, until he was standing in front of me. I stared into brown eyes that reflected my own. Eames stared at me, spinning the Azriel on its chain like a whip, a mischievous smile adorning his face. It made him look like he was simply playing a game, not torturing me. And though I knew it wasn't really him, my heart felt a stab of betrayal as I looked into his eyes, so perfectly alike to real Eames'. "God, you're so stupid," Eames said, still staring at me with those eyes. "I mean, honestly. First you screw up with the Fisher case. I mean, it was you _job _to learn everything in his history. But no, you went and screwed up. Overlooked the crucial factor that he had _martial _training. As if that wasn't bad enough. Then you had to go and screw up the math, overlooking the _sedative _in the equation, thus trapping us here in this god forsaken wasteland. And you really believe that someone like me would fall for a guy like you?" he asked, staring at me in disbelief, as if the very idea was the most preposterous thing he had ever heard. Those words stung deeper than the wounds the Azriel had left on me and I had to bite my tongue to keep from sobbing. I felt all the self-loathing and anger pile into me once again. I couldn't help it. Not-Eames was bringing them all back to the surface, drowning out all the reassurances that Eames had given me.

"Now now, pet," Not-Eames said, pulling my chin up using the Azriel. I felt my skin grow welts, pain like one-thousand lashes hitting me under my skin. He pressed a little harder and my skin cracked, a light trickle of blood starting. He dragged across my jaw bone and pressed down on my earlobe, delighting in how I squirmed. "Remember how much you used to beg to die when I would put this in your ear?" he asked, looking at my face. It must have reflected the sheer panic I felt, because he chuckled then. "Don't move, or I might just break you before the fun starts."

When he pressed the Azriel into my ear, I felt all my resolve fade away, taken over by the part of me I had fought to suppress. A scream erupted from my lips, sounding crazed and animalistic. The pain was like being skinned alive then having your raw flesh lashed and sliced and then burned. So much pressure built up in my head that I felt like it would split apart. It was the worst kind of pain imaginable and I knew that this was just the beginning. There were so many things he could do to me. So many much worse than this. And I knew the only way I would ever be able to survive this was to lock away my core, my humanity, and subject the rest of me to this blinding torture. I knew cause that's what I did last time. So I did. I created a vault in my mind where I broke off the part of me that was sane and I turned the key, making sure the lock was on the inside. I wouldn't be able to open it or have it forcibly opened. I would die first.

He continued to press the Azriel into my ear for a couple more minutes before he grew bored of it. When he removed the accursed stick, my world spun crazily left and right. "That's my good pet," Not-Eames purred out. "You didn't even flinch. I'm impressed. Though I was sort of hoping you would," he said. "It would have been so much fun to watch you break." With that he jammed the Azriel into my ribs, several _cracks_ echoing in the room. There was so much pain and each breath was getting harder and harder. Not-Eames laughed, straight out insane laughter, before he pressed on my ribs again, breaking them into even smaller fragments. I was aware that I had started screaming again, my throat and lungs burning from the effort. He trailed down to my stomach, pressing against each of my six ab muscles till my stomach was a large bleeding mess.

"What do you want from me?" I gasped out, barely holding on to my consciousness. The effort of speech was so painful I dared not try it again.

He laughed, "I want to hear you beg. I want you to beg me to stop. I want you to know every moment you spend not in pain is a gift I have chosen to give you. I want you to feel every last press of my Azriel against your skin and know that you have absolutely no control over what is happening. You are mine, now and forever." His smile scared me even more than his laugh. It reminded me of Dustin, the general in charge of my lessons. He had taken a particular interest in me and had seen to it that he broke me in every way imaginable. I wanted to scream, scream for Eames to save me, scream for Cobb to wake the fuck up and get me out of here, scream at myself to just do as he wants and get the pain over with.

Probably two hours later Not-Eames had attacked me so much that his shirt had spatters of my blood all over it, making it seem more red than white. My entire body was completely coated in my blood; the floor had a giant puddle underneath me. He set the Azriel down and left the room, closing the door after him. When finally the door opened again, it was not-Me who came in. He had a bucket of water in both hands and a syringe in his pocket. He unceremoniously tossed all the water in the bucket on me, letting it slam into my body like a tidal wave. I kept my mouth open, drinking as much of the water as I could. Who knew when I would get water again? When finally my body was rinsed of all the blood, not-Me walked up and smiled, stabbing the syringe into my skin underneath my broken ribs. I screamed in agony as he injected the liquid into my body. Within moments all the cuts on my body closed. I wanted to cry. They were getting me ready for round two.

When finally I was healed, not-Me left the room with the bucket and empty syringe, coming back with another Azriel. I knew this Azriel. It was mine. The one that I had earned when I killed Dustin. I wanted to scream and cry, but I held it back as I stared at not-Me's calm face, mirroring it. He smiled at me, knowing that my calm face was even worse than my scared face. It meant I was fucking horrified. He pulled a little table behind him, like the ones surgeons use to hold their tools. Except this one held all his tools for torture. My tools for torture. I stared in horror at the pair of pliers, the curved scissors, the scalpel. I saw him lovingly place the Azriel on the table before he left, leaving the table just within my sight so I could stare in horror at what he was planning on using on me. He came back carrying a bucket that had a lid on it. I could hear a whole bunch of squeaks and skitters from within it and my face paled. Rats. Please let it be anything but rats. But I knew it was.

"Your expression is downright hilarious. I'm somewhat humiliated to have the same face as you. What kind of point man are you if you can't even keep a straight face?" he said, picking up the scalpel and cleaning it on a wash cloth. Walking over to me, he examines my chest as if deciding what he wanted to do. Then he pressed the scalpel down and cut a deep line down my chest, stopping right before my stomach. It hurt as I felt him break through the skin. Then he cut a line parallel to the first and then a line at the top, perpendicular to the other two. Then he worked to cut the whole strip of skin off, letting it hang at the bottom. Looking into my eyes, he smirked and then ripped off the strip of skin. It brought tears to my eyes but I forced them down. I would not give him the satisfaction of making me cry. Not yet. He repeated the process once on my back, once on each arm, and each leg.

When he finished, I was shaking from holding in my screams, glaring at him. This was worse than not-Eames. He had at least been quick, eager to bring me pain. Not-Me was so different by contrast, slowly drawing it out, letting the subject feel all the pain as he worked his way further and further towards the real thing. He was so like me it scared me. It was exactly what I would do and I was terrified. Cold anger was so much harder to predict than impulsive. He simply smiled at me, knowing what I was thinking and loving it. Damn it Cobb, you got me way too perfectly.

Next he walked over and grabbed the Azriel, picking it up and looking at it. Debating. Finally he made up his mind and brought it over to me, pressing it lightly against the exposed flesh on my chest. Instantly blood started pouring out and I grit my teeth to keep from screaming. He slid it up and down the flesh, enjoying the look in my eyes. When I squeezed my eyes closed, he slapped me across the face with the Azriel, breaking my nose and letting blood start gushing out. I coughed up blood and glared as he smiled and started sliding the Azriel across my back, occasionally pressing down to tear the muscle or break the bone. I couldn't help it any longer, I started screaming. When finally he had finished with all the strips of raw flesh, he stepped back to the table, whipped the Azriel, and set it down. Then he picked up a pair of pliers and then walked back to me. He looked at where my arms hung above and pulled the chair over to him, standing on it so that he was eyelevel with my hands. Then he pulled my hand over to him and, taking the pliers, got hold of my thumb nail. I grit my teeth as he slowly started pulling the nail. I could feel each of the roots slowly begin to stretch until they snapped one at a time. I started screaming, thrashing my body back and forth, trying to shake him off. But he held on tight, getting hold of my index finger and letting my thrashing tear the nail out. I screamed, but got his message. Stay still. I sagged down, helpless as he smirked down at he and took my finger, slowly bending it backwards, hyper extending it. Finally I heard a _snap. _It was horrible. He pulled off all my nails and broke all my fingers. Then he got off the chair and pulled to away, going to the table and cleaning off the pliers.

He grabbed the Azriel and forced my mouth open, forcing me to bite down on it. I felt blood start pouring out of my mouth. "Don't you dare drop this," he said, using the chain to wrap around my mouth making it impossible for it to drop anyways. He looked at me before he reached down and picked up the bucket. He walked towards the door and opened it, slowly pulling off the top of the bucket. Right before he closed the door, he kicked the bucket over and the rats started spilling out. I knew that he was going to let them have their way with me for a while. I watched them slowly crawl their way towards me, drawn by the smell of blood. I started trembling in fright. Rats were horrible. I hated them more than the Azriel. Their creepy eyes and tails. They were disease-carrying fur balls. It went against my tidy nature.

The first rat reached me slowly lapping at the blood, sniffing around, looking for meat. Then the next one hit and the next and the next. Finally one noticed my foot and with a squeak started crawling up my leg. I wanted to cry. Their claws dug into my skin and their teeth bit into me. I wanted to sob, but I couldn't because of the Azriel. They slowly made their way up my body, biting and nipping at my skin. When the first one hit the cut on my chest I saw stars. I screamed around the Azriel, sounding pitiful as I gurgled on my blood. Finally they made it to my neck and I prayed one of them would hit my jugular and sever it. If that broke even the compound wouldn't be able to produce enough blood to keep me alive. But just when one got ready to strike at the glorious spot, not-Me threw a bucket of water at me and the force threw the unsuspecting rats off me. From there he forced them into a corner and back into the bucket. When he finished he smiled at me, taking in the rawness of my body the many bite marks all over, the claw marks, and all the blood pouring out of my mouth. His smile grew. Walking over, he unlatched the Azriel taking it from my mouth. I spat blood on him, causing his smile to grow.

"Well I guess I don't mind having the same face as you too much now," he said, twirling the Azriel around before hitting me with it on my ribs. I let out a scream, my breath hitching and I glared at him, my gaze so deadly he hesitated in his twirling. Then he took the Azriel and pressed it against the sensitive skin under my armpit. I had a bundle of nerves there that screamed in protest to the on slaughter it experienced. I continued screaming as he continued attacking me, blood splattering on the walls the floor his clothes and face. He continued to attack me for what seemed forever. I knew they had only been at it for a couple hours, but for me it felt like several lifetimes. I knew I was begging. Begging him to just end it, kill me, let me die, let this torture end. And I heard his answering laughs as he continued to beat me into a bloody pulp.

I felt more than saw—everything was blurry through my tears—when not-Eames walked in. He walked over to not-me. "What is it love?" not-Me asked, pushing the Azriel harder. I fought through the pain so that I could hear their conversation.

"The forger's found the dreamer. They're heading here now," not-Eames said, staring at me. "They're here to save him."

"How soon?" not-Me asked.

"They're outside right now," not-Eames said.

"Fuck" not-Me said. "What now?"

Not-Eames smiled. "We go down with a fight and hopefully we can take them with us."

Not-Me nodded. "What about him?"

"Leave him," not- Eames said, smirking. "He'll die soon enough anyways. The compounds wearing off and he's bleeding so much that it doesn't matter whether we end him. He'll probably have only a few minutes anyways."

Not-Me shrugged out of his shirt, leaving on only his black dress pants, identical to the ones I had worn earlier. "Will you do the honors, love?" he asked, holding out the Azriel.

Not-Eames smirked, "It would be my pleasure, darling." He took the Azriel and slammed it into not-Me's face.

So I watched in horror for the next few moments while not-Eames beat the living shit out of not-Me, making him so bloodied up I wanted to hurl. Was that what _I _looked like? When finally they were done, not-Me smirked and I understood what they were doing. They were going to pretend he was me. Oh god. I started screaming, but to no avail. Not-Eames simply came up and shoved not-Me's discarded shirt in my mouth, tying it around so I couldn't spit it out. I screamed and screamed into the fabric, my throat sore. But I knew it was no use. I watched uselessly as not-Me and not-Eames left the room. And I knew we were all royally screwed.

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><p><strong>Reviews are love, always. <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**_AN: Here's my chapter. ^.^ Hope you like it! Thanks for all the reviews, too, they made my week. _**

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><p>Eames POV<p>

"One more thing," I said, grabbing Cobb's arm and pulling him to a halt. "You can't die—number one priority. If you do, this reality will collapse and Arthur and I will be lost in Limbo and won't wake up when the timer runs out. It's a no-no, got it?" Cobb nodded and started forward once more, but I wasn't done. I yanked him back once more and ignored his pissy face. "And," I continued pointedly, "If you shoot me or Arthur, bad things could happen. There's a .5% chance we'll wake up, but it's more likely we'd get stuck on some other dimension of this bloody endless place, and that's even worse than just this section of Limbo collapsing, so rule number two: do _not _shoot me unless you're sure it's a projection. That goes for Arthur, too. We clear?" Cobb nodded, still looking annoyed with me but seeming to understand my point. "Good!" I released him with a brilliant smile. "Then let's go rescue our little stick-in-the-mud, shall we?" I held on to my faux cheer and set off briskly toward the setting of my darkest, rarest nightmares.

We forced open the heavy, impenetrable metal door and stepped into a dark building. They had seen us coming, then. Damn.

"Welcome to Hell," Cobb murmured from beside me.

"What the hell did you go saying that for?" I demanded, shivers going up my spine. He didn't respond, but I could feel his smugness from beside me: he'd gotten his revenge. Fine, then. Better now than later.

There were three paths that broke off to meander through the base: one directly in front of us and additional ones curving to each side. They wound through each other like snakes further in, but we had the labyrinth memorized.

"Forward and split?" I suggested into the darkness. Cob would probably have agreed, but the lights flashed on in a surge. I was blinded for a few moments. I hated being defenseless. I hated even more that when my vision returned, I saw…me.

Not-me had dragged Arthur along with him. The man was bloodied, more or less torn apart, his muscles undergoing spasms from pain. I couldn't bring myself to watch him for too long; I hadn't seen him look like that for years and it was a sight I had never wanted to see again. I watched from the corner of my eye as Cobb tensed. "Hello Cobb," he greeted. "Eames." There's a small hesitation when he said my name, a mocking edge as he drew out each syllable almost imperceptibly. I wanted to punch him so, so much, and Cobb shifted a little in anticipation to my anger so he could hold me back if I lost my head. I shot him a glare, but I couldn't blame him. "You'll be wanting my newest toy back, then?" he asked, jostling Arthur a little in his hold. I bit my lip but simply nodded. He laughed, but I'd seen that coming. "Come and get him, then." He stepped back and around the corner, flipping the switch I remembered was there. A thick, solid metal door lowered down from the ceiling, barring the central tunnel. Its purpose was to split up anyone who might try to invade the base; the separate tunnels were smaller and easier to trap. Splitting up any people that tried to get past our defenses made it easier for us to take them out. Our own trick had now been turned on us…and it was exactly what I would have done in not-me's place.

To top it all off the lights went out once more. I sighed, counted to ten, and mentally moved on.

"I'll go left, you take right?" I suggested, eyes scanning the darkness.

"Sure. Why left?" he asked curiously.

I was still scanning the darkness, and also pulling up my mental map of the place so I could walk around in the darkness without crashing headfirst into walls. 'Cause that would just be brilliant. "It's my lucky number," I told him.

"Left isn't a number, Eames," he told me in that exasperated tone he frequently used when he thought I wasn't taking a job seriously enough.

"Of course it isn't," I agreed, still only giving him half of my attention. "But if it was a number, I'd be a millionaire."

"You are a millionaire, Eames." He sighed, and I could tell he wished he hadn't asked.

"I'd be a millionaire from gambling," I elaborated with a grin.

"So, you always pick left, then?"

"Yup," I agreed.

"Let's hope my subconscious hadn't noticed that, then." My blood froze, but Cobb just set off to the right without another word. Apparently, he wasn't altruistic enough to walk into traps meant for me.

With a sigh, I set off to the left, my feet falling into the familiar steps with ease. The paths I'd walked every day were just muscle memory now, it seemed. Nothing about this place should have been familiar, not after years of repression, but the memory was a funny thing.

As I walked, I tried to anticipate what kind of traps I would have left for myself. This was impossible; there were so many traps he could make, especially in this place. Avoiding every potential threat would make me paranoid, so I just closed my eyes and tried to pretend everything was fine.  
>How stupid of me: everything was always worse with your eyes closed. It did make the room feel more spacious, though, and I began to breathe easier. Something about open spaces just always made me feel more relaxed.<p>

Of course, I eventually opened my eyes, because I didn't like the idea of walking into traps.

The lights were still on in the deeper corridors, past the paths that led to the barracks and inward toward the torture chambers. I found myself walking quickly, hoping I'd run into Cobb and he'd have Arthur with him and all would be well. I didn't want to have to go through all of these rooms. Being near them was already taking its toll on my sanity.

That did mean, however, that by the time sounds reached my ears, I was too far down the current corridor to stop. Not that I was supposed to. I pulled out my gun and kept walking, rounding the corner to see… Arthur.

He was slumped over in the corridor, bloody and torn to bits. His head lolled a bit to one side, but he dragged it up to meet my gaze. "Eames?" It was a bit slurred but distinct nonetheless.

I crossed quickly to his side and knelt down next to him, nodding. I lowered my gun to my side but didn't let it go, not yet. I ran my hand through his sweat soaked hair, brushing it back gently. "I need to ask you a question," I told him, wary of a trap. I didn't think any version of me could hurt Arthur like this, but projections could turn vicious. "What was the first thing you ever said to me?" It was a good question, too; contrary to Cobb's belief, Arthur and Eames had met before they all got mixed up in the army. The day before, in fact.

"Hello?"

Eames grimaced. "No. Wrong answer, love." He pulled up the gun and weighted it in his hand. He didn't know if he could do it. It was _Arthur…._

Arthur caught on to my plan. "No! No! Eames! I just forgot! Ask me something else!"

I frowned and shook my head. "I'm sorry, darling." He was growing panicked, his eyes wide and hurt and so very Arthur, so I closed mine to keep from giving in.

"Eames!" Arthur's terrified voice cut me to my core. "Eames, don't do this!" he pleaded frantically. "I'm me! I'm me, Eames!" A tear escaped from my closed eyes, but I opened them and forced myself to meet his panic-stricken gaze.

"I'm so sorry love," I said, another tear escaping, "but I don't believe you." I was in agony; I knew I had to shoot him, but it was terrifying to think of losing him. Always one to follow my impulses, I got caught up in the heightened emotions of the moment. I leaned forward and kissed him—something I now realized I'd wanted to do for bloody _ages, _but hadn't consciously admitted to myself. I tasted blood, sweat, and tears on his lips, and it was simultaneously the most beautiful and terrible thing that I'd ever done; he kissed me back desperately and I was once again sure this wasn't _my _Arthur, because Arthur would never kiss back from fear or desperation, but he would give a kiss for a distraction.

I couldn't let myself be distracted any longer. With a deep sigh I pulled away, my resolve strengthened. I took a deep breath, aimed, and fired. I really, really hoped I was right to break my own rules.

I started delving into rooms as I walked down the corridors now; if I was going to find Arthur, I wouldn't just stumble across him, I'd already decided on that. If I was going to find him it would be in a little room hidden away somewhere. If I didn't find him… well, I wasn't going to consider that. It really just _wasn't _an option.

Five rooms of torture, most unfamiliar to me—hence, why I'd picked them first—and he wasn't in any of them. I only had a few to go and had yet to run across Cobb. The compound was eerily quiet around me, only the slight hum of electricity surrounding me. It was like this building was humming with life; I didn't want this place to be alive. If I could, I would blow it to bits and watch with immense satisfaction as it burned. My lips turned up a bit of a grin, because that mental picture was quite nice. Maybe I'd beg Cobb to let us do it when we all got out of this okay. We _would _all be okay.

I pushed open another door and tried not to hold my breath, but it all came out in a rush. Arthur was there, strung up and hanging. He looked even worse than the projection-Arthur had. He wasn't just bloody and torn up; his skin hung off in shreds and he was covered in dried blood everywhere that he wasn't bleeding. His muscles twitched randomly, but in general seemed to be too tired to even do that anymore. He looked awful, on the edge of death.

"Arthur…"

His eyes slowly dragged up to meet mine, and the hope in them was paired off with wariness. "Eames?" But then he passed out, something he was probably thankful for, but that wasn't great on whole for _me. _I had to find something to fix him with, fast, or this rescue mission would be pointless. He'd be dead anyway.

I heard running footsteps behind me and Cobb burst through the door. He was a bit roughed up and disheveled, but in one piece, so I wasn't too worried for him as of now. I ignored him as he took in the situation and instead gently unhooked Arthur and lowered him to the ground, trying to find an unbroken place on him so that I wouldn't accidentally hurt him. It was impossible, but I tried. Before long Cobb appeared next to my shoulder, a needle in hand. He injected that horrifying substance that fixed us all up in the worst way possible. Arthur's bones began to snap back into place, his skin knitted itself back together, and the blood stopped gushing out. Eventually he was just a mess of fading bruises and dried blood: still horrifying but a lot less frightening overall.

He was going to be okay. I grinned in relief and turned to Cobb. "So… got any TNT on you, by any chance?"

"What?" he asked, staring at me in mild confusion.

I grinned. "I wanna see this place go up in _flames!" _The look on Cobb's face was priceless. Almost worth Hell. Almost.

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><p><em><strong>Reviews are love!<strong>_


	7. Chapter 7

**_AN: Here's her chapter! Sorry for the wait, she was sick and I was busy with finals projects, so between the two of us updating this became improbable-ish-able-e. But here it is! _**

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><p>Arthur POV<p>

I was vaguely aware when the door opened, the pain making my senses go haywire. I was watching this one spot on the floor where my blood was slowing dripping sending little waves through the steadily growing puddle. I knew that I should have felt something. Fear perhaps, but I just couldn't feel anything beyond the pain. It was all consuming.

"Arthur," a voice said from the wall before me. That word sounded so broken it Some part in the back of my mind was screaming at me, trying to tell me who it was, but I couldn't pay attention to anything other than the pain. I slowly brought my eyes up, the very movement sending shockwaves of pain down my spine. In the door stood Eames. Or Not-Eames. I couldn't be sure. I wanted more than anything for it to be Eames. Maybe he could make the world stop spinning.

"Eames?" I took in the way his sandy brown-blonde hair hung around his face, damp with sweat and his blue eyes, green undertone more pronounced, his eyes looking like stained glass, and his pupils dilated. Then black dots blotted my vision and my body slumped down, defeated. I hung there, awake and aware, but my body had given out and was responding to my commands.

There was the sound of footsteps pounding the pavement outside before the door burst open again and another person walked in, breathing unevenly. Eames walked towards me, then his hands—excessively gentle—unlatched my wrists. Hands hovered over my body, trying to find an unmarred spot, failing and lowering my body to the ground. My mind screamed in agony as my battered skin met the cold, unyielding ground. Then footsteps from the door approached, crouching down next Eames. I felt a needle go through my skin and panic hit me hard. God, they were getting me ready for another round. I wanted to cry, to scream, to beg to die but my body felt like dead weight.

Then more pain hit. I was hit by wave after wave that made my breath hitch. I internally screamed, my head ringing, as I felt each bone snap back into place and the lung puncture healing. My skin snatched over my sensitive flesh and matted back together. When finally the compound finished, my body lay in a shallow pool of blood, my newly renewed nerves telling me how cold the floor was. I shivered.

"So… got any TNT on you, by any chance?" Eames asked, his voice relieved and lighter.

"What?" Cobb asked. God it was good to hear his voice. I wanted to hug him. But I knew there was a chance that it was Not-Cobb, not real Cobb.

I could hear Eames smile as he said "I wanna see this place go up in flames!" From the strength of Eames' laughter, I could tell Cobb had made a face. This joke confirmed it for me; this was Eames. No amount of compiled subconscious data could have caused such a response. Not even from Cobb. Only the completely adorable idiocy that was Eames could have come up with that response. I smiled, startled when Eames set his hand on my arm. "Arthur, you awake love?" he asked. "I saw him smile," he told Cobb.

Opening my eyes, I squinted at the sudden light. There, hovering above me was Eames Cobb. I saw Eames' smile grow as they both let out the breath they had been holding. Then Eames' eyes, blue-green like the sea, grew hard and guarded. "What was the first thing you ever said to me?"

I wanted to smile, realizing what he was doing. Cobb had never heard about how Eames and I had met, therefore his subconscious would have never known the answer. Instead I mustered up the most condescending look I could and said, voice sounding astonished, "Seriously? Sunglasses at night? You want to know who wears sunglasses at night? No talent douche bags-!"

The rest was cut off as Eames brought his lips down to crush mine. His hands flew to my hair, tilting my head so that he could work at my lips with his—sinfully sexy ones— more efficiently. The feel of his lips and hands working at me made me want to shiver and melt, but my shock made my muscles tense and freeze. I sat there, motionless as Eames kissed my unresponsive lips. The feel of his tongue swiping across them finally pulled me to my senses and all thought of this being real-Eames left. I didn't know who this was and I had to get him off of me. I slammed Eames away, materializing a gun and pointing it at his head, right between his eyes.

I heard Cobb shoot at me with disbelief, trying to pull the gun from me. I simply conjured another, pointing one at each of them.

I watched Eames carefully, feeling my Point Man face slip on. "What was the first thing you said to me?"

Eames looked confused for a second, then he smiled, his voice teasing as it had been the first time we had met in the Starbucks in Fresno, California those many years ago. "Excuse me, but your half-caf, double frap vanilla latte is getting cold over here, Francis."

I stared at Eames, holding my hand steady and glaring. I saw him shoot Cobb a worried glance, frantically searching his mind to make sure that his answer was the correct answer. Looking back, he stared at me, forcibly keeping himself from twitching under my gaze. Finally I let my hand drop back to my sides. I saw Eames relax then. Turning around, I started walking towards the door.

"Arthur, I-" Eames began. I turned around and saw him standing there, openly fidgeting from the awkwardness of the situation. It was so unlike Eames that I had to force my gun hand to remain still.

"We don't have time for this," I said, turning back around and positioning myself for action, nudged the door open and scouted the hallway, gun raised. I fired a shot off at Not-Eames as he rounded the corner. Heading down the hall, the sound of two footsteps let me know Eames and Cobb were following. As we neared Not-Eames' body, I got my gun ained, loading it to shoot another bullet into his head as a knife stabbed into my calf. A scream of agony and rage tore through my lips as I finished loading the gun and fired a bullet into his head as I crumpled to the floor. Damn it, I thought, why was it always me?

Eames was at my side in an instant, hovering around me protectively. I tried to get up, but my leg gave out, buckling under the weight. Eames' arm was around my shoulder in an instant, helping me to my feet and supporting my weight. Cobb was standing in front of us by then, gun in hand as he scanned the hallways. He urged us forward at a slower pace than I preferred, Eames helping me half walk, half limp out of the building.

As we rounded the corner right before the exit, Cobb standing in front out of earshot, I turned to Eames. "Thanks for saving me. Sorry for…"

"No problem darling," Eames said, his voice a little strained. "It wasn't your fault. I made a mistake kissing you back there. It was very unprofessional and completely uncalled for." I felt my heart sink at his words. As much as the kiss had shocked me, I had realized just how much it had made me happy. "But I won't apologize," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "I don't regret it at all." His eyes pierced into mine, showing the validity to his statement and my heart fluttered. I swallowed several times, trying to bring moisture to my mouth, but I couldn't. I couldn't say a single word.

"Could you two save the soul-searching for later?" Cobb shouted from ahead. I saw him shooting Eames an apologetic look as the forger fixed his heated glare at the poor Extractor. "We have something bigger to deal with than your electric chemistry and your raging hormone levels."

I looked up, looking around, just noticing that we had exited Hell. But as I stared at the strike army standing before us, guns raised, I knew we had set foot in another kind of Hell.

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><p><em><strong>Reviews are love!<strong>_


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: I'm not even going to defend us for how late this is; however, you do get two at once! I know, I'm sorry. We sat on these all summer. It was the Hellish Summer of Massive Writer's Block for me, so my poor co-author didn't have a choice; don't blame her!_

_Disclaimer: As always, I disclaim. _

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><p>I hated watching Arthur stride off, knowing he was running from me. Cobb and I trailed after him quickly, not wanting to lose track of him so soon after finally finding him. My mind was on a constant loop, torturing me by replaying the moment Arthur had shoved me away. My heart felt like it was being roughly squeezed, stealing my breath, and even though I knew Arthur was trying to get away from me, I wanted nothing more than to reach out and take his hand. It was all so bloody confusing.<p>

Considering my distracted state, I was quite impressed that I noticed the not-Me lashing out at Arthur with a knife, driving it into his calf. Calling out would have been pointless then; instead, I rushed forward, only to stop short uncertainly next to him. I wanted to help, but I was unsure how much help would be welcomed from me. I watched helplessly as he climbed to his feet, only to go down once more. My reaction then was instinctive and unplanned; my arm was around Arthur, supporting his weight, before my cognizant mind had caught up with the moment's occurrences. He allowed me to help him forward as we followed Cobb now, and my relief washed away all the pain of the previous moments. It was disturbingly addictive to have him in my arms, no matter the circumstances.

Cobb eventually got so far ahead of us that he was out of earshot, not that I expected the distance to change anything. I was surprised to hear Arthur say, "Thanks for saving me. Sorry for…" He trailed off, not finishing his apology, but some flickers of hope had rekindled inside of me at the two itty bitty words. After all, in a relationship based on sarcasm, genuine "sorry"s were rare.

After a moment, though, the words made me decidedly more anxious, yanking me out of my previous almost-calm (almost for the sake of the fact that we were still trapped in fucking Limbo with Cobb's psycho subconscious coming after us). "No problem darling," I told him. "It wasn't your fault." That much, at least, had the double bonus of being honest and costing me absolutely no heartache to say. "I made a mistake kissing you back there," I continued, getting into the painful part of my carefully constructed mental speech. "It was very unprofessional and completely uncalled for." True, kind of, except that I was never professional and it was starting to feel like every moment around Arthur called for passionate snogging. After a small pause I continued, forcing myself to look into his eyes as I said my next words. "But I won't apologize. I don't regret it at all." I couldn't tell quite what affect my words had on him, only that he was very shocked and very speechless. Neither was seeming quite good, and I cursed Cobb for his untimely (as always) interruption.

"Could you two save the soul-searching for late?" he requested a bit testily. Wait… not testily… more in that stressed out way Cobb got when something was going to Hell in a way he hadn't planned. Which shouldn't be happening. We were out of the nightmare building now. "We have something bigger to deal with than your electric chemistry and your raging hormone levels," he continued, confirming my suspicions.

I looked up to see a strike force assembled before us; once again, that's a resounding _fuck you_ to Cobb's "brilliant" mind.

My current grip on Arthur was light, hardly supporting him at all really. In lieu of this new danger, however, I pulled him closer, willing to protect him at any cost. I glanced over at Cobb to ask what kind of stunt we needed to pull to get the fuck out of here, but he looked like he was concentrating, so I left him to it. "Think you can run back to the building, darling?" I asked Arthur, but I only received a glower for my efforts.

"I'm not running away," he told me stubbornly, frown lines etching into his forehead.

"Of course you aren't," I agreed amiably enough, ignoring the impulse to kiss them away, because it really wasn't appropriate for the moment, and I wasn't sure how the reaction would be received, and I hadn't really had a lot of time to actually come to terms with these suddenly blatant feelings at all.

A loud bang startled me and I looked toward Cobb, only to see a large freighter train (off tracks, too) come barreling in our direction. It veered away from us and took out the gunmen lined up before us, neatly saving us the effort.

"You?" Arthur asked Cobb, looking half- amused around his once again stoic mask.

"My dream," Cobb agreed, "so I thought I'd level the playing field a little."

I stared at the bloody, severed corpses of the not-real but so realistic people and wondered, not for the first time, if Cobb really did have psychopathic tendencies somewhere deep down.

For all of our sakes, I sure hoped not.

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><p><em>I know I don't deserve them, but reviews are love? :)<em>


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: This chapter is hers, so it definitely does deserve reviews! It's much longer than mine, too. She did a great job with it. :)_

**_Important:_**_ I updated both chapters at once. If you didn't read chapter eight first, go back and read that too. :) If you don't, you might get confused._

_Disclaimer: We disclaim. _

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><p>The look on Eames' face when he saw what we were facing was priceless. His jaw dropped and his eyes got all wide. If I wasn't trying to hurriedly wipe a similar reaction off of my face I would have laughed.<p>

Eames seemed to recollect himself and his mouth closed, eyes narrowing as his jaw tightened. He pulled me closer, slightly shifting before me so that if I hadn't been paying attention I wouldn't have noticed. Now he stood, slightly between me and the gun line, eyeing their weapons wearily. He turned to Cobb, my gaze following his and I saw Cobb, eyes trained solely on the team, jaw set, hands fisted at his sides. I knew he was trying to manifest something. But what?

I was pulled out of my pondering by Eames. "Think you can run back to the building, darling?" he asked me. I glowered at him. He wanted me to run, like all those pathetic heroines in those action movies? To leave them alone in the line of gun fire while I hid out in a safe place till the fighting was over?

"I'm not running away," I said, frowning up at him. I saw Eames's lips twitch and he smiled.

"Of course you aren't," he agreed, taking it exactly how Eames would. I saw his lips twitch again and his eyes train on the frown lines on my forehead. He was amused that I couldn't keep my straight face?

Both our heads whipped around when we heard a huge crash. There before us stood Cobb. But right before him, barreling down the street was a freight train like the one Fisher's subconscious had created. It was heading straight toward us, but then I saw Cobb's finger slightly twitch and it veered off course and went slamming straight into the startled gunmen. Before it killed them I head a few screams and I wanted to be sick. Then there was the sound of metal crashing into flesh, the sound of bones breaking and the sound of metal screeching to a halt. Right before us lay the bloody remains of the men that had been. Amongst the broken pavement lay bodies so mangled you couldn't even tell how many there had been. All the bones in their body had been crushed and even their skulls had caved in. It just looked like a huge glob of ground meat. Off about two hundred feet from the massacre lay the train, looking seemingly out of place on the wrecked street.

Thought the whole scene was so horrible, I couldn't help but smile at Cobb's ingenuity. "You?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"My dream," Cobb said, smiling for what seemed the first time since I had seen him in the dream, "so I thought I'd level the playing field a little."

I felt Eames' gaze on me and made sure that my face was void of emotions other than a simple smile. I looked up at him to find him looking at the remains. A wave of emotions danced in his blue eyes and I knew he was thinking the same as me. Though they weren't really people and if we hadn't killed them, they would have killed us, it struck too close for comfort. I saw Eames swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he looked at Cobb with a look of appreciation. But I saw the horror hidden beneath it, and I knew Eames was thinking something similar to me. That hopefully Cobb didn't have psychological tendencies buried beneath his surface. Otherwise we were screwed.

"So what now?" Cobb asked, looking instinctively to me. Of course he would, I'm the Point Man; I'm the man with the plan, though normally within the dream Cobb's the leader. I guess he felt that I was the most prepared for this.

"How much longer do we have, darling?" Eames asked, staring at me too. Both of them stared at me as though I held all the answers in the world.

"About," I said, looking at my watch, "8 more hours." I ran my hand through my hair, my hand coming back covered in sweat and semi-dried blood. God I needed a shower. I looked at Eames, clothes soaked in my blood, his hands coated in it. It was flaking off where it had dried and his hair had blood mixed with his sweat. Damn, how bad was I when he found me to have bled so much? A stab of sudden pain ripped through my leg and up my spine as the bullet hit a nerve. I tried to keep my face stoic, but I knew I failed, because Eames stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I think.." I began, shifting my weight fully to my good leg. Eames looked like he was about to help me, but I stopped him with a shake of my head. His eyes met mine and I could see from the slight tightening of his jaw that he was about to argue and I tried to convey with my eyes my thoughts. I would not be weak. I would not be dependant. I would do this, even if it killed me. Though I sure hope it didn't. His eyes shifted as he searched my face then my eyes then my leg then back to my eyes. Finally his jaw slackened and he looked away, looking out towards the street the train had come from, but he kept his hand on my shoulder. I guess I could compromise. "I think we should head back to the hotel," I said, looking at Cobb. "We need to reassess the situation and come up with some strategy."

Cobb nodded and I started to step towards him, heading for the hotel room I had manifested, but Eames' hand on my shoulder stopped me. He was squeezing it so tight that when I looked at his hand it was completely white. I looked from his hand to his face, wanting to recoil from what I saw. His face was twisted in a mask of horror as he stared down the road opposite the one we came from. I followed his gaze and couldn't see what was bothering him so. All I saw was the train wreck from before. Then there was a shimmer in corner and a young boy rounded the corner, his cap turned slightly to the side revealing his grimy face. His hair was sticking out from underneath, wavy blonde locks covered in dirt and sweat. His face was smeared with all sorts of dirt and his body looked so tiny and fragile from under the clothes he wore. The oversized t-shirt, probably once white but now a grubby brownish-gray, his overalls torn so much around the knees and lower leg area that it probably was more a nuisance than a protection, his jean jacket in a similar state. His sleeves were mismatched, one side rolled up to his wrist and the other having escaped was hanging down well past his fingertips. He was barefoot and his feet looked scarred and bruised under the layers of dirt and calluses. But it was his eyes that caught my attention the most. They were the most beautiful shade of blue I had ever seen, and even from 200 feet away I could see that when the sun hit them they had green in them. They were like the stained glass mosaics windows in the churches I had admired as a child. They were the exact same shade as Eames'. But these ones shone with the bright gleam that was unique to the youthful.

Eames' lips mouthed something I couldn't hear, because the boy laughed at that moment. The sound was so creepy, thrown off the buildings around us and echoing, the laughter ringing in our ears. It sounded so like a child's, but underneath it all you could hear something off, something peculiar. This child was not completely sane. Eames' grasp on my shoulder was bruising now. "Eames?" I asked, switching my gaze from the boy to Eames. What I saw was horrible. Eames' face was half covered in shadows and he looked ages older. And his eyes, they looked… broken and vulnerable. It was the same look I had seen only glimpses of. Eames' walls of sarcasm and mock flirtation had crumbled and from behind them rushed the part of himself he had tried to keep from others. The part of him that was hurt and broken and scared. The part of him I desperately wanted to find and fix, but was too scared to try in fear of completely destroying him.

His grip on me was getting tighter and tighter and I could feel my bone creak under the pressure, threatening to dislocate. "Eames, you're hurting me," I said, trying to get his attention. But his eyes were locked on the boy. Every second he looked at the boy he seemed to break down more and more and as that happened his hand squeezed tighter and tighter. "Eames!" I shouted. His head snapped around to look at me and he released automatically. I breathed in a sigh of relief and then my breath was cut short. I had been so focused on the pain in my shoulder I hadn't even noticed I had shifted my weight back onto my bad leg. Now that the pain in my shoulder was no longer distracting me, fire seared up in my leg and my vision went blurry around the edges. I collapsed onto the ground and started screaming in pain.

Eames' eyes grew huge and he dropped to a crouch next to me, muttering to me frantically. "Arthur, are you alright?" he asked, looking to where I was clutching my leg in agony. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I bit into my lip in an attempt to stifle the screams. I could taste the coppery tang of blood fill my mouth as I bit through my lip. My vision was a complete blur as I held back my tears as best I could and I could barely make out the shape of Eames before me. His face was twisted in concern and pain and something else. Something my Point Man mind was trying to bring to my attention, but the jolts of pain racking my body were preventing me from listening.

What happened next, I blame myself for. If I had been paying attention to our surrounding at all, the following events would have never happened. I was so focused on the pain that I missed it till it was too late. Another silhouette entered my line of vision and walked up directly behind Eames. I barely recognized it to be the boy until it was too late. I tried to scream for Eames to run, but it just came out as a scream of terror as the boy lodged a knife straight into Eames' back, between his shoulder blades. I kept screaming, trying to pull myself up and when that didn't work, started dragging myself as the boy pulled the knife out and tucked it back into his belt. Walking over, he leaned down to where I was, desperately trying to drag myself to Eames and slammed his foot straight into my side, sending my body a foot off the ground. After landing, my body instinctively curled itself up, trying to make itself a smaller target. My body jerked as wave after wave of pain ripped through me and my eyes stared, unblinkingly at the boy, fear and pain shaking my body. A smile on his face, the boy swaggered over till he was at my side before he dropped to a crouch. When I reflexively flinched away from him, his smile grew and he leaned down till I could feel his breath on my ear. "You daft little boy," he said, his British accent and high voice contradicting the vindictive things he was saying. "You'll never beat me. I am his past, his present, and his future. He shall never escape me. And as long as I'm here, you'll never have him." With that, he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head against the concrete. Getting up, the boy sauntered back to Eames body, picking his arms up and dragging him off down the street. All I could do was lie there, watching as Eames was dragged away from me until the world went black.

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><p><em>Poor girl had to sit on her own cliffie all summer. Reviews are love! <em>


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